GTA Whiteboy
by A1G1P2
Summary: A British Defense Attorney comes to San Andreas and moves into a place in Ganton, only to be quickly sucked into the gangster life of his new neighbors and friends. What will happen to the Oxford Graduate in this new niche?
1. My Past

_My past._ Not something I would like to relive. I was born somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. Apparently, my mother was stupid enough to take a plane from New York back to London in her ninth month of pregnancy. And the guards at the airport were stupid enough to let her go. Oh well, regardless. I lived in Liverpool for the first year of my life, and after that my family moved to Atlantic City, New Jersey. When I was four years of age, my parents were killed in a plane hijacking and I was sent back to Liverpool to live with my grandmother. My grandfather had died the day after I was born, so I never met him. On the other side of the family, I haven't a clue of my grandparents. After graduating top of my class in high school, I went on to Oxford University, where I studied to become a defense attorney. Sounds like a decent life, right? Well, that's the edited version, the explicit version is a bit longer. But no one wants to know about my past life, but rather, my present and future. This is a diary of sorts, and very accurately portrays the rest of my life as no one knows it.


	2. Scouting

_Scouting._ Scouting for homes. My realtor was taking me around San Andreas, and we were currently in Idlewood. It was a nice little neighborhood, but I wanted something more… exciting. Something out of the ordinary. All my life I had been taking the easy way out of everything, and now I wanted to change all of that. I wanted to do something moderately crazy. I looked at my tour guide and saw a warning: "Stay out of Ganton". _Hmm… _I wondered… Maybe, just maybe, that might be it. I asked my realtor to head that way, never revealing the final location. When it was just a stretch away, only four or five blocks, he finally popped the question.

"Where are we headed now, sir?" he asked.

"Ganton" was my immediate response.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I'd like to go to Ganton, please."

As soon as I had finished my sentence, I was out of the car. The realtor opened the door, tossed me out, and in a matter of seconds, he had abandoned me. It was still two blocks from Ganton, so I just started walking. I stopped at the end of a block and looked over to my right. I saw a middle aged man, of African-American descent, a cigarette in his mouth, dressed in neon green clothing, rip open the door of a beautiful sports car, grab a man by his collar, and throw him on to the street. He got into the car and drove towards where I wanted to go. Almost as soon as the deed was done, I saw a police car pass by, with no regard to the man or the stolen vehicle speeding towards what was Ganton.

I frowned. This was appalling. I ran across the street, dodging a few cars to the disoriented man on the ground. I helped him to the sidewalk and asked if he was okay. He got up, gave me one frightened look, and sprinted away. What could it be? I wondered. I brushed off my shirt, and realized that I had gotten a mud stain on my best shirt. It had been a perfect shade of green, until now. Wonderful. This was turning out to be an awful day. I crossed the street and continued my pilgrimage to Ganton.

I looked further ahead, and saw a cul-de-sac in the distance. It seemed that is where I wanted to be. I stopped as a car crossed by. A police car came by and stopped. An officer stepped out and threw a half-eaten doughnut onto the seat. He walked up to me as I stood there, frozen, simply gaping at his freckles and cream ridden mouth and nose. He simply opened his mouth for a moment, and the next moment he was back into his car. I wondered why he had gotten out, only to get back in. He sat his gluteus onto a quarter of his seat, picked up his doughnut, and sank his teeth into what were the last morsels of the treat. This time, he brought the pastry with him as he stepped out to me and stood in front of me. He took a finishing bite of the tartlet and wiped his hands on his uniform. He tried to speak, but all the came out were grunting sounds and spit. Disgusting.

He finally came to speak. "Where ya headed partner?" He calmly inquired.

"A… Ganton. I believe it's called… Yes… Ganton," I finally finished my rejoinder.

His eyes immediately expanded. "G-Ganton," he stuttered.

"Erm, yes," I replied.

"You stay away from that neighborhood, ya hear son? That place there is bad news," his face very serious now, he gawped at me.

"So I've heard," I looked up at him and added, "sir."

He sniggered. "Listen. You just stay away from that place and you'll be fine. Okay?" I turned around and walked away. He called out to me again. "Ya understand?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. I didn't turn, I didn't look up, at the sidewalk before me or the road beside me. I kept my vision fixated on the ground two feet away from me. I answered in a rough, cold voice, "No." And I walked away. I heard the officer mutter something as he opened the door and stepped into the car. I heard the door slam as I turned the corner and headed towards the gym.

I found the gym fairly easily and stepped inside. I saw a man at the end of the room standing at a punching bag. I looked over a little and saw two men in the ring with each other. I looked to my right and saw a bench press and a treadmill. I headed over to the bench press and put on 120 lbs. I lifted it with ease. Not enough. I added another thirty pounds and tried that. Still much too easy. I must have been forgetting all that Varsity Wrestling I did in High School. Okay. Let's up the ante. 240.

"Grah!" I screamed in frustration. Whoa. Way too much. Goodness. What's the perfect weight? All right. We'll drop it to 210. I lifted the weight once. It was perfect. Yes. 210 was the perfect weight. I lifted for a while until I decided to switch to the treadmill. I ran for a half hour and decided I was done. I was gonna head back to Ganton. I was sweaty. Disgusting. Odorous. Perfect for the job. Pfft… Ganton. How tough could it be?


End file.
